


I Wonder If You Wonder About Me Too

by mightypretty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightypretty/pseuds/mightypretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, the Once and Future king, was always prophesied to return, but the reason why isn’t always clear. Sometimes destiny takes a while to reveal itself…in the meantime there’s always the internet, PlayStation and porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wonder If You Wonder About Me Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kylezy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylezy/gifts).



> So this snowballed to become longer than I could even imagine. I hope you enjoy it Kylezy, I took your 'Arthur struggles with the modern world' prompt as the starting point and ran with it, trying to include as many of your likes as I could along the way. Consider yourself glomped! <3 
> 
> A huge thank you must go to Gem for the speedy beta job, and to Laura for not only co-hosting this wonderful fest, but for being an incredible cheerleader, sounding board, beta and evilest enabler all rolled into one. 
> 
> Title inspired from the similarly named song by Lauren Aquilina

 

“Really Merlin, the rules could have been clearer.”

Arthur folds his arms across his chest, bare feet flexing on the stone pavement. Merlin clutches his satchel to his side and stares up in astonishment. Two hours he’d left Arthur alone. Two hours.

“They’re on the packet, how hard is it to read?” he replies. The smoke has nearly completely disappeared into the late afternoon sky, where thick black clouds had mushroomed over the house with a billowing stench of burnt plastic.

“That miniature stove can’t be trusted.”

 “Microwave,” Merlin sighs.

“Whatever,” Arthur snaps back. His toes wiggle on the concrete as he glances around at the murmurs of passers-by watching them. “Clearly your magical cooking port is to blame.”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not magic, it’s electric. Same as the TV, same as the lights, same as that god damn PlayStation console you’re so addicted to.”

Arthur has the goodwill not to respond. Merlin’s urge to zap this all away with his magic is an ever appealing option but with so many people about the risk simply isn’t worth it.

A fireman approaches them with a look of barely veiled contempt etched on his face. Merlin groans as Arthur’s back straightens and his hands drop to bracket his hips. Now was not the time for a pissing contest. With an arm on Arthur’s shoulder Merlin steps across his path, sliding in-between them.

“Next time gentlemen, be careful with your appliances.” The fireman sounds appraising, looking at Arthur as if he’s some dull-witted child. Quiet disbelief spreads over Arthur’s face and his shock would have been picture worthy but right now Merlin doesn’t need Arthur to earn them even more suspicious looks by sprouting talk of respecting kings and knowing ones place.

“We will officer, thank you,” Merlin replies quickly, feeling Arthur bore holes in the back of his head. Turning to face him Merlin can’t help the gentle smile which teases his lips.

“I don’t have to keep you in a padded room for soft play, do I?”

“Oh do shut up Merlin.”

Arthur stomps back into the cottage, pulling the door behind him sharply, leaving Merlin to stare wistfully and ponder just how this is all going to work out.

 

**_ 5 days earlier _ **

 

Merlin hates Tuesdays. Nothing exciting ever happens on a Tuesday. He gets up, goes to work, walks the dog, makes dinner then goes to bed. Eat, sleep, repeat. They were mundane and almost always overcast, just to round off the whole stereotype.

Hesitant to move away from Glastonbury, Merlin set up home for most of his perpetual life in a small cottage in the Somerset hills with only a scraggly golden-haired mongrel for company. Kilgharrah is a mutt of a dog who spends most of his time sleeping or staring at Merlin quizzically with the tilt of his head. Merlin thought it hilarious to name him after his scaled old friend, a tongue in cheek nod to his once trusted advisor. That was until the dog outlived two World Wars and was still by his side 100 years later. Suddenly the irony didn’t seem so ironic.

So when Kilgharrah takes off down the hill on their evening walk, Merlin is noticeably not impressed at having to chase after him. He’s amazed that he doesn’t clip his feet and fall head first, but when he draws to a sudden halt at the bottom it’s as if Merlin has tumbled and is still rolling. His stomach feels heavy and his mind spins in confusion. Lying at the foot of the slope is Arthur; his Arthur. Still in his dirt and blood-stained armour, head lolled back, eyes closed, like some fancy-dressed reveller who has had one too many jaegers. 

Kilgharrah is nosing at Arthur’s side, paw coming to rest over the wound he’d been inflicted with hundreds of years ago. The pathway is blissfully quiet, just the stirring of the trees as the brisk October air rattles through their branches. Merlin drops to his knees and presses a hand over Arthur’s chest. His palm steadily rises and falls, the deep wave of breath passing through Arthur’s ribcage something he has yearned to feel for so long.

“Please be real,” Merlin whispers to the shell of Arthur’s ear. Nothing.

Then, after thirteen painstakingly long seconds, a puff of air dances across his temple and Arthur groggily stirs back into his world.

“Merlin,” Arthur wheezes, familiar blue eyes widening in the dim light. “What on earth have you got slobbering all over me?”

The laughter chokes out of Merlin’s chest before he knows he’s making a sound, waving a hand at Kilgharrah to back him up; he clenches his fingers in Arthur’s cloak and laughs again, tears pressing against his eyes. 

“It’s you! It’s actually you!”

“What _are_ you going on about? Of course it’s me. What is—where am I?”

“You’re home.”

Arthur pushes up on his hands, armour creaking as he gazes out across the landscape before him. “We’re not in Camelot…” Arthur’s voice breaks with resignation.

“Not exactly,” Merlin begins hesitantly, “but its England…its Albion. The nation you helped build, the United Kingdoms. It happened Arthur, you made it happen.”

“I remember,” Arthur mumbles, head bowed. He drops back to his elbows and the wind whistles through his chainmail, “I—I died.”

“Yes,” Merlin grinds out through gritted teeth; centuries of hurt beneath that one word.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

If possible Arthur grows paler, the lines of worry on his face drawing deep.

“I wish I knew.” Merlin responds. Truthfully he hasn’t even thought that far ahead. The joy of seeing his friend again is all he can bring himself to focus on. Responsibilities and destiny be damned.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Arthur cuts into his thoughts as he fingers the ear flaps that are covering the side of Merlin’s head and rolls his eyes.

“It’s a hat.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“You’re as charming as ever.” Merlin retorts dryly and for a brief moment a flicker of a smile crosses Arthur’s lips.

“Naturally.”

They share a look, one that’s filled with the kind of warmth that is only felt between the closest of friends. Arthur’s fingers spread out as if to touch Merlin’s knee but stop before he can quite reach it.

“You have magic!” he suddenly blurts, eyes narrowing as though a lifetime of memories are flooding back in one hit. Merlin opens his mouth to reply but then Arthur slumps back to the ground with a thud and passes out again. Merlin frowns, nudging Arthur in the side and earning a rather undignified snore in response.

“Bloody brilliant.”

 

\--

 

Arthur expects to wake to blistering sunlight, beams pouring through the parted curtains and his incessant manservant babbling on about something or another. However the room is still dark when he rouses from his slumber. This isn’t his bed he reflects as he blinks open an eye and peers around his unfamiliar surroundings. Reality hits a moment later as Arthur looks down and realises that he’s no longer wearing the chainmail he’d woken up in earlier, but the under shirt and breeches he’d slipped on before that fateful day at Camlann. Dried blood stains the fabric and it makes Arthur’s throat sting. Heaving upright his eyes lands on a bundle of folded clothing at the foot of the bed, a scribbled note of _‘these should fit’_ set atop of them.

Quietly, Arthur slips out of his old garments and into the fresh ones provided. They smell of Merlin; a thought that makes him pause at how freely that recollection comes to him. There’s light creeping round the edges of the door and Arthur can hear quiet murmurs of conversation as he pads through the corridor. He finds Merlin curled in the chair of the living room; limbs impossibly tucked and folded in a multi-coloured blanket. There are strange images and sounds coming from a bizarre looking box in the corner and Arthur’s eyes dart around for something to do but everything is new. Not just fresh to these eyes, but completely alien. He has no idea what half of this stuff is and he would never admit it out loud but it’s frightening. He decides therefore he’s safer just to stand where he is, leaning against the open doorway tracking the shapes of light as they dance across Merlin’s face.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

Arthur startles, “I-What?” Merlin shuffles where he’s perched, a bare shin slips free of the blankets and Arthur can see his trouser leg has been rumpled around the knee. His hair is sticking up every which way and it would be classified as endearing but Arthur doesn’t allow himself to dwell on that notion. “Don’t be absurd.”

“What time is it?” Merlin asks, running a hand across his head and just making it all so much worse.

“How should I know?”

It’s a mixture between a grunt and an exasperated sigh as Merlin leans across the table and illuminates a strange slim black apparatus with the touch of his finger. Arthur coughs and looks away. Resoluteness, he reminds himself, don’t show them you’re scared.

“Blimey, it’s 3am.” Merlin yawns, raising his arms, and the hem of his top in the process. “And that’s a phone by the way.” He points to the contraption he’d just tinkered with. Arthur stores that tit-bit of information away, even if he’s none the wiser to what a _phone_ actually does.

“You found the clothes then.”

“Yes,” Arthur replies, pulling the t-shirt which hugs a bit too tightly against his chest. “They’re…different.” He gives his friend another once-over, lingering on the well-worn jumper that has frayed at the sleeves. Honestly, could Merlin still not afford to buy garments that didn’t require darning? 

“I see your sense of fashion hasn’t improved over the years.”

“Nor your lack of tact,” Merlin quips, covering his knuckles with the long half-ripped sleeves and crossing his arms. His hair’s mussed over his forehead, dark strands running low over his eyebrows and curling against his truly ridiculous ears. There’s a softness to the lines of his face, the rumple of his clothes that makes him appear younger somehow. Arthur realises with a delayed reaction that he must have said some of that out loud as Merlin is blushing furiously and shoving his hands even further under his armpits.

“Not bad for 1500 years old huh?”  Merlin moves to lean on the back of the sofa, eyes carefully watching him.

“Fifteen…” Arthur blinks. “Has it really been that long?” Looking around the room they’re in he’s at a loss to process a place without the cold touch of ashlar but rather garish orange wallpaper. He runs a hand hesitantly along the wall, fingers moving over a ridged piece of plastic and suddenly the room is plummeted into darkness.

“Whoops,” he can hear Merlin call, stumbling steps growing closer until a toe nudges against his own and the room is shocked back into brightness. Merlin’s face is so alarmingly close that Arthur can pinpoint the small wrinkles around Merlin’s eyes, the lines that sit lightly on the bridge of his nose and he sees it; the many years of waiting.

“That’s the um, the lights there.” Merlin coughs, taking a step backwards and pointing upwards. Arthur’s stunned eyes track the movement. “They’re like lanterns and candles except, well, powered by electricity.”

“Electricity?” Arthur asks, puzzled.

“Bugger,” Merlin mutters under his breath, looking around uncertainly. “Well it’s…a source of energy which powers things.”

“Magic?”

“Oh no,” Merlin quickly corrects, “That’s pretty much disappeared.”

“But you still have yours? Your powers?”

“Maybe,” Merlin replies coyly and Arthur can’t help but roll his eyes.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says without thinking. Without realising that for all of their long life together, bar those last few days, Merlin had been quite the opposite. Sensing his choice of words Arthur instantly pulls himself up straighter and an awkward tension fills the air.

“Would you like some tea?”

Arthur startles - what on earth? “Honestly Merlin, I think you’re making all these words up.”

“Oh right, that came after,” Arthur can just about make out as Merlin moves to the other side of the room. “It’s a drink, kind of British people’s coping mechanism. In distress, have tea,” he beams. He looks ridiculous, grinning like an idiot but damn if it isn’t the most reassuring thing right now.

Arthur simply crooks an eyebrow and follows Merlin into the kitchen.

“It’s not entirely unpleasant,” Arthur shrugs a little while later, perched on the edge of the couch, taking another tentative sip. It’s a taste he can’t quite describe but the warmth it provides as it slips down his throat is most welcome. He lets the hot steam tickle under his nose and sighs into it.

Merlin smiles over the rim of his mug, watching from his spot on the armchair, “I have a feeling you’ll be more of a coffee fan.”

Arthur picks up one of the biscuits from the tin, snapping it in half and crumbling it between his fingers. It’s the most unusual texture.

“You dunk it,” Merlin instructs, demonstrating the motion by sinking his own in his mug. Arthur copies him with an uncertain gaze, submerging his biscuit almost fully before lifting it to his mouth.

“I suppose it’s not awful” he replies around a mouthful. Merlin gives him a rueful grin and Arthur reaches back into the tin for another biscuit when he thinks Merlin’s not looking.

“So…” Arthur begins, setting his mug down and shuffling back deeper into the softness of the sofa. “What have I missed?”

Merlin guffaws so loudly he almost chokes on his tea. “Where to begin?”

 

\--

 

They talk long into the morning; until the sun rises over the garden fence and bathes them in its warmth. Hours spent recollecting that fateful morning at Camlann and the days of their last journey together to the lake of Avalon. How Merlin had returned to Camelot with the heavy burden of heartache, watching as Gwen became the wisest Queen and led the kingdom into prosperity and unity. When Arthur had asked about the others it caused a pang in Merlin’s chest. He’d long stopped thinking of them, long stopped searching for them. If they too were wandering like him, Morgana, Leon, Gwen or even Uther, he had yet to hear word of it. He still felt his father’s presence at times, when he allowed himself to sink into the earth and grasp the real roots of magic and nature, but never Gaius or his mother.

The sombre conversation lends them both to tiredness, Arthur abandoning him with a yawn at some point through his tales about the 1920’s, slinking back to the comfort of Merlin’s bed. Not that he’s offered it at all. It seems there are some things that never change, Merlin thinks as he stretches out on his old battered couch and struggles to get comfy. He curses his lack of foresight for not creating a spare bedroom, but then why would he? It’s not as if he’s ever had anyone over to visit. On second thought, it was best not to go there; these things were far too depressing for a mind on such little sleep.

He’s woken what feels only a few hours later by sparks of bright light flashing beneath his lids.

“What the—?”  He murmurs, rolling on his back and almost falling off the couch in the process. Blinking against the brightness he twists his neck and finds Arthur stood by the doorway, flicking the light switch on and off, pure fascination on his face.

Merlin slumps back into the cushion with a groan.

“We’re going to need to teach you a few things.”

 

\--

 

“They’re great. They stick to anything. See.”

Arthur barely has time to register what in fact he’s looking at when Merlin steps forward and places a small yellow square of parchment on his forehead. It hovers there quite unusually, hangs over his eyes and tickles the bridge of his nose. He can hear Merlin sniggering beside him and he snatches the piece of paper off his face.  Turning it over in his hands he rolls his eyes with exasperated fondness at the scrawl on the front.

“Dollophead. How original.”

“I have other names I could…”

“No that’ll be fine,” Arthur replies, “Idiot.”

He looks up at Merlin under his eyelashes and catches him grinning, an almost mischievous line to the curve of his lips that has Arthur smirking back in response. They hold each other’s eyes for a beat and its familiar, this bartering, but there’s a hint of something more which leaves Arthur’s cheeks feeling hot. He shuffles on his stool, foot slipping off the rung and Merlin seems to be feeling just as awkward as he quickly jumps up from his seat and begins to move around the kitchen in a flurry of limbs.

“Right,” Merlin coughs. The tips of his ears are pink but Arthur doesn’t allow himself to focus on that. “So that’s post it notes, pens and well you already know the lights. Electricity, which pretty much powers most things, like the TV there, it’s sort of talking artwork… though most of it is just crap. Then you have the oven, kettle, toaster and oh phone, tablet, which is only Wi-Fi enabled, not 3G annoyingly but what can you do? Ah, of course, laptop, hoover, dishwasher and…”

The words tumble from his mouth with an alarming speed and Arthur is dizzy from watching him as Merlin ferrets around, scribbling and sticking post-it notes to everything in the house. Only when he finally stops and faces Arthur does it seem to dawn on him that he’s lost his audience.

“And I’m going way too fast aren’t I?” he says, shoulders slumping.

“I think you’d give the most patient saint a headache.”

“Right, sorry. I know there’s a lot to take in, it must be tough.”

“Its fine, I’ll be up to speed in no time.” Arthur shrugs, focusing on the post-it note in his hands as he tears the paper into thin strips. He doesn’t need to be coddled; he was a king once you know.

“Of course, I’m just saying with so many things changed since you’ve come back...”

“Really Merlin, stop prattling about like an old housewife.”

As always, Merlin clearly isn’t listening to him as instead of sending a scolding look or a witty jab he’s smiling to himself like an overexcited child.

“Ah I know!” Merlin rushes to the other side of the island to open his laptop. His fingers pass over the keys with an alarming efficiency for a servant who’d once been the clumsiest oaf known to man.

After a few seconds he turns the screen and Arthur’s brow furrows with confusion, all the while Merlin’s face is lit up with a glee that sends crinkles around his eyes.

“Go…Google? What’s that?”

“The answer to all your questions.”

 

\--                                                       

 

Merlin shuffles onto his side and a puff of air exhales loudly. Cursing the sheet that is currently stuck wrapped around his ankle he fights uselessly to free it before giving up and falling back with a sigh. Another wheeze of air hisses from beneath him.

“Oh for God sake,” Merlin mutters under his breath, rolling to a stand up off what is possibly the most useless air-bed in the world. Having been desperate to avoid a fifth night on the couch, Merlin had resorted to knocking on his neighbour Betty’s door for a source of relief. After he’d been pulled inside and made to drink herbal tea and listen to stories about her grandson’s camping trip to Mendip forest, Merlin left the house, an hour later, clutching the rolled up mattress to his chest and wondering why he hadn’t just gone to Argos.

“You still on that thing?” Merlin asks, blearily taking in Arthur sat at the kitchen island, laptop open. It’s a familiar sight that has greeted him most mornings, afternoons and pretty much any hour when he hasn’t been in Arthur’s company. 

“It’s amazing. It’s like a library.”

“Yeah I suppose it is,” Merlin leans on the counter, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes with a yawn, “Never thought of it that way.”

“Old Geoffrey would be turning in his grave. With all this knowledge who needs books?” Arthur chuckles to himself, and Merlin drinks his fill, watching with a bemused smile.

There have been moments since Arthur’s return when Merlin questioned what type of person had come back to him. It wasn’t natural, obviously, for loved ones to suddenly resurface from the dead, but he’d been promised and waited and now he’d been rewarded. Yet, there are times when he looks at him, truly looks and it’s not the same Arthur. He’d been expecting temper tantrums or ferocious arguments about duty and wanting to storm Buckingham Palace. He expected a reaction. For the most part, however, Arthur’s been incredibly calm about the whole thing and it’s freaking Merlin out.

He smiles more. Which is never a bad thing because Arthur’s smile has been known to dazzle and even make a maid faint that one time, but these are small and more frequent. A quirk of the lip which offers intimacy and little looks that make warmth spread through him like wildfire. It’s as if the air feels different around them somehow. Fifteen hundred years have changed Merlin, there was no doubt, but Arthur seems to have changed in that time too.

Flashes like this reassure Merlin he was still the same man. The same Arthur who hated reading books and would huff and puff his way through any council scrolls he was required to look over.

“Oh we still need books. Trust me. The smell, the weight of them in your hands; its more than just knowing or learning, its feeling them.”

“You really are a girl aren’t you?“

Merlin pushes off the counter with an irked glare. “Piss off. Tea?”

“Coffee please.”

“You know you can learn about the world by going out and experiencing it too.” Merlin flips on the kettle and turns to push back against the counter and face his friend.

“Yes, thank you for that wonderful insight,” Arthur drawls, eyes still fixed on the laptop screen. Merlin shakes his head at the monster he’s created.

“I’m just saying, I’m going back to work next week-“

“Playing with rocks,” Arthur butts in, giving Merlin a look as if he was a little bit touched in the head. The kettle whistles loudly and Merlin’s grateful for the distraction or he’d be tempted to lean over and throttle him; Once and future king or not.

“I’ve explained this to you already. They’re fossils, not rocks and palaeontology is incredibly interesting. Discovering evidence that life existed millions of years ago-“

“Are you trying to send me to sleep again?” Arthur interrupts.

Merlin stands over him with an unhappy glare, placing Arthur’s mug down with slightly more force than necessary. Drips of coffee slide over the rim and run down the side, “Oh don’t be a spoil sport Merlin, I’m only teasing.” Arthur catches the runaway droplets with his fingers, sucking them into his mouth. Merlin has to turn and look away.

“Sometimes it’s nice to know there are things out there older than me, that’s all.”

Arthur has the good grace to not say anything to goad him further as they go about sipping their drinks in a moment of silence. Kilgharrah is watching them from his basket in the corner. Merlin’s never understood just how a dog could give a look that makes him feel like he is under intense scrutiny, but Kilgharrah manages it. Acting like a five year old Merlin sticks his tongue out. Kilgharrah simply shakes his head and trots round in a circle to turn his back on them. ‘Charming’ Merlin thinks.

“You need to get out. If I leave you cooped up in here for another week you’re going to go mad.”

Arthur swivels on his stool to face him. He’s still dressed in Merlin’s clothes, fabrics that once clung too small against his built frame have now relaxed and moulded to Arthur’s muscles. It looks natural and it’s easy to imagine this is a scene from a life Merlin had only dreamed of having with Arthur. Where they would sit and bicker over a morning coffee, where their clothes would start smelling like each other and their bed sheets were always rumpled. Dreams he’d held onto knowing they would never become reality – well the last bit at least.

Arthur’s leaning closer to him with a quirk of his head, “You do know I’m a functioning adult who’s capable of looking after ones’ self.”

“Yet one who had a servant all their life.”

“I was king!” he exclaims, eyebrows raised.

“You were pampered.” Merlin laughs, his whole body vibrating with it. Even Arthur is smiling despite himself and it’s only now as a quiet lull falls that Merlin realises how near they’ve edged to each other. If he twisted ever so slightly to the left their knees would knock. Their arms are almost brushing on the countertop too and it’s making the hairs along his skin stand upright. Merlin wonders if Arthur feels it too, this heightened electricity that’s thrumming between them.

“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur mumbles, barely any heat behind it as he turns his attention back to the laptop, leaving Merlin lingering; still lost in whatever moment they’d just shared. “I wonder what they’ve written about me…”

Merlin blinks confused. “Hmmm?”

“On this internet…thing.” Arthur continues. Merlin can see him draw up another tab and sighs.

“I wouldn’t if I was you.”

“Nonsense. Why ever not? If it’s like you said and I helped bring about the United Kingdom’s there should be plenty.” Merlin reaches across to try and snatch the laptop from his grasp but he was never going to outpace Arthur on reflexes. That was unless he knocked him out. Something Arthur had made him vow never to do again after Merlin revealed just how much he’d missed whilst being unconscious.

“There’s a movie? I need to see this Merlin, make sure you get it.”

Merlin gives up and draws back in his seat, knees brought up to his chest. If Arthur was determined on achieving something he was a stubborn enough arse to see it through no matter what. He rests his cheek on top of his knees and watches as Arthur pulls up the Wikipedia tab. Merlin follows the furrow of his brow as he continues to read and he knows exactly what section Arthur’s on without even having to look.

“The details of Arthur's story are mainly composed of folklore and literary invention, and his historical existence is debated and disputed by…they…” Arthur trails off, “they think I was made up.”

“Not…” Merlin tries to choose his words carefully. “Not exactly. See it says debated and disputed, there are some people-“

“Oh some people, what, crazed theorists who they keep locked in cells?”

“History has this funny way of changing over time,” Merlin tries to reason, watching as Arthur’s head droops lower with each word he’s reading. Merlin leans across and closes the laptop, staying close by Arthur’s side. Anyone else he would reach out and touch their shoulder, run a comforting thumb over the soft skin of their wrist, but this was Arthur. So he remains close but still. “It’s just magic, mystical creatures, warlocks? It’s all so far removed from this world now I think people are afraid to believe it ever existed.”

Arthur’s head is still bowed, “I thought we were fighting for something worthwhile.”

“Arthur.”

“No its fine.”

Merlin’s close to placing a hand on Arthur’s back when he jolts upwards and clears his throat. “Let’s go for a ride.” He says suddenly. “You’re right; I could do with the fresh air. You do have horses?”

“Um, not quite but I have something similar.”

 

\--

 

“This is nothing like riding a horse.”

Arthur feels like a fool; parading around the park on some weird two wheeled contraption. His balance has always been something he’s prided himself in. For jousts and tourneys that was always half the battle, making sure you were steady footed enough to deal that decisive blow, but on this thing, a bicycle, Merlin had explained, Arthur felt like a wobbling fowl. Stood in yet another truly ridiculous piece of headgear and a scarf that seemed to be double the height of him Merlin yells out encouragement each time he rides past. Cheers of ‘You’re getting the hang of it!’ and ‘keep straight!’ follow him around the stoned path and he has to bite his tongue from telling Merlin to simply shut up already for the tenth time.

Just when he thinks it can’t possibly get worse, two small girls of no more than six come up behind him, giggling upon their own very pink coloured bikes, glitter tassels hanging off the handlebars. They overtake him a minute later and Arthur huffs to a halt, clambering off the godforsaken monstrosity with none of the elegance he used to display dismounting a horse.  Merlin jogs up to him, nose red from the cold, “I think you could do with a drink.” Arthur has never agreed more.

They end up in some tavern round the corner; an old stonewalled building that makes Arthur feel like he’s stepped back into the Rising Sun. It’s different of course, the décor, the lighting, but there are two old men with great bushy white beards propping up the bar which reeks of familiarity.

“Just what’s needed.” Arthur releases a deep breath, striding forwards. “A nice cold tankard of mead in a good ol’ Tavern.”

Merlin catches up to him with a hand on his forearm. “I think you should let me do the talking in here.”

Arthur’s about to argue but the look in Merlin’s eyes is pleading and almost sympathetic. As if Merlin doesn’t want to watch him fail at yet _another_ thing.

‘Here too?’ He thinks, leaving Merlin at the bar to head towards a small table tucked away under a carved alcove. Trying to understand this new world is like taking one step forward and two steps back. It’s daunting that he can’t seem to even be capable of ordering a drink for himself correctly. Arthur realises that this could be the toughest battle he’s ever encountered and he feels utterly defenceless.

 

\--

 

These doubts plague Arthur for most of his waking hours. He’s still yet to find his purpose. He wasn’t a king, wasn’t a man of power in the slightest, the restlessness was seeping through his bones. Doing nothing and not knowing where to start in making it right was exhausting.

The days begin to draw darker earlier and Arthur spends his time wrapped in Merlin’s tattered blankets on the sofa, Kilgharrah lying at his feet as he flicks through the channels on the television listlessly. Merlin tells him he’s becoming a loner, and Arthur feverishly insists he is not, despite not having a clue what a loner is. He could Google it he presumes but he’s taken to staying clear of the laptop the past few days, ever since that Monday. Merlin still hasn’t quite looked at him the same since and it’s setting Arthur on edge that this tension is hanging over them.

Arthur’s not sure how he even stumbled onto it. Those…videos. Granted he was being nosy, who knew what other secrets Merlin had kept hidden from him all these years. However, he hadn’t quite expected to discover _that_. There were six videos in total. When he’d clicked on the first and the screen had expanded he wasn’t quite certain at first what kind of movie he was watching. The two men, one dark haired one fair, were lying on a bed laughing trading playful shoves. Arthur smiled, the horseplay reminding him of his knights - that was until the two men on screen kissed. A choked cough caught in his throat as the camera focused on a close up of the men’s tongues, languidly caressing the inside of each other’s mouths. It was filthy and Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Clothes were shed and the sounds of the pairs heavy panting echoed through the laptop speakers. The blonde haired man was rocking on his knees as the other pounded into him from behind, one arm tight around his clavicle, the other stroking his partner’s cock. Moans rung out that Arthur had only ever heard in the backstreets of Camelot. Men with men, those had only been whispers of noble men taking their manservants to their beds after drunken banquets, campfire tales of passion filled nights on Beltane and one occasion where Arthur had actually intruded upon two stable hands rolling in the horses’ pen. He did nothing then, and he does nothing now, but just like that day back in the paddock, he’s hard.

The realisation does nothing to make him stop. Instead his mind envisions Merlin watching the same film and he brings a hand down to touch his crotch. Arthur gets through three more videos, the last more raucous than the others. The camera is zoomed in on a guy’s arse, a weirdly shaped blue instrument pressed tightly between his cheeks. It’s obscene, and so fucking glorious Arthur can’t stop the pressure on his cock as he rubs the heel of his palm in quicker ruts. That’s of course when Merlin chooses to come home from work because timing has never been on Arthur’s side. It’s a frantic panic to close down the video but the heady groans still sound into the room no matter what buttons Arthur pushes. There’s no point of course, because it’s all so torturously obvious from Merlin’s face as he stands in the doorway, cheeks deepening in hue with each passing second.

A growled “fuck me!” reverberates out of the laptop and Merlin is moving swiftly over, eyes never meeting Arthur’s as he shuts down the movie and the house is left in embarrassed silence. Arthur can feel Merlin’s breath on the back of his neck and he bites his lip from saying something stupid because he’s still so fucking hard that he’s afraid if Merlin moves any closer he’s going to explode.

Instead Merlin simply walks into the study and closes the door. Arthur waits ten minutes before heading into the bathroom and jerks himself off with Merlin’s pants a phantom ghost in his ears.

 

So yes, the laptop has been strictly set aside for the past five days but those images still burn in Arthur’s memory each evening. He tries to distract himself with the TV but as he quickly comes to learn everything is either incredibly boring or utterly depressing. The news at six flashes up and Arthur pushes forward on his seat. The main story captures his attention immediately, there’s a war taking place half way across the world. The destruction and despair is palpable. Injured soldiers filter across the screen and a woman’s grief is filmed in painstaking clarity. It’s hard to watch. A lump forms in Arthur’s throat and he’s never felt more useless.

“Arthur?”

Merlin’s suddenly beside him, fingers gingerly pressing between his shoulder blades. He’s not sure when Merlin entered or how many times he’s tried to get his attention but Arthur doesn’t worry about that now as he blinks back the tears clinging to his lashes.

“I have no idea why I’m here.”

Saying the words out loud is freeing. It’s as if he’s unlocking the weeks of self-doubt that have beset him.

“People are dying. There is grave injustice in this world and I-“ Arthur pauses, fist clenched against his mouth, “I am sat here doing nothing and I don’t know how to make this right.”

“You’ve been brought back for a reason Arthur, you are destined to do great things, they’ll reveal themselves soon, I know they will.“

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I believe in the type of man you are.” Merlin replies simply. His fingers run down the length of Arthur’s back as he quietly slips from the room. Left with his thoughts, Arthur drags his hands through his hair, nails bedding into his scalp, the pain of the pressure keeping him focused.

A touch on his wrist makes him startle and he looks up to find Merlin curling his fingers and tugging to relax his palm.

“Come on,” Merlin speaks softly, tilting his head to make him stand. Arthur raises an eyebrow, hesitant to move. “Just come on.”

Reluctantly Arthur follows, Merlin’s grip still loose on his arm. The moment he’s led into the bathroom Arthur’s eyes adjust to the dimmed light, the sweet smell of jasmine and the candles burning in the corner of the windowsill.

“You ran me a bath?”

Merlin shrugs, “I remember how it used to always relax you.” They hold each other’s gaze and for the first time in days the awkwardness has eased but the tension still cackles in the small space between them. Merlin runs his thumb over Arthur’s pulse point, giving it a final squeeze before turning and leaving the room. Arthur undresses, slipping into the heat of the water, and can’t help but wish he’d stayed.

 

\--

 

“He looks nothing like me.”

Merlin snorts and takes another sip of his drink. Arthur’s attempting to point at the TV screen but his hand-eye coordination isn’t at its best right now and he ends up nearly poking Merlin in the eye instead. He swats him away and Arthur falls back into the softness of the couch. After days of insistent nagging Merlin has finally caved in and bought the blasted King Arthur movie. Thirty minutes in however it becomes apparent that to sit through the rest, alcohol is well and truly needed.

“Am I prettier Merlin?”

Merlin shakes his head, “I should never have introduced you to gin.”

“Am I prettier than TV Arthur?” he continues, tilting his head on the back of the sofa to face Merlin. Despite the copious amount of drink they’ve both consumed Arthur’s gaze is steadfast. Merlin shuffles and mimics the position, resting back against the cushioned headrest. Azure eyes hold his own with an unwavering intensity that makes Merlin want to look away, yet he doesn’t.  

“You have some things going for you.” Merlin admits, not quite sure what to do with his hands that fidget hopelessly in his lap. “But I can mute TV Arthur.”

Arthur pouts beside him; Lips full and pink, if slightly chapped. The temptation to slide closer and run his tongue along the seam of them is overpowering. He could blame it on the alcohol, which would be fine except deep down he knows this desire is not a new one, he’d just become really good at  hiding it, like many other things.. Instead Merlin swallows the lump in his throat and keeps still, licks his own dried lips and watches as Arthur’s eyes drop to track the movement. That doesn’t help.

The movie becomes nothing but white noise drowned out by Merlin’s quickening heart gathering pace beneath his chest with every second that lingers in silence.

“I can be quiet.”  Arthur finally speaks, his fingers are drawing patterns on the space of couch between them and hesitantly Merlin reaches out and does the same. Not touching but growing closer with each stroke.

“Hmm,” Merlin hums quietly, “I’d like to see that.” Arthur’s movement stops and Merlin’s hand bumps into his, dances over the top of Arthur’s palm. He keeps it there, lets the full weight sit in its hold.

“Arthur I—“ Merlin can’t seem to get his words in order as he keeps his eyes down and focussed on where their two bodies meet. It’s been too long, too many secrets he couldn’t keep any more.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us, and I don’t know if it’s just me or if you’re feeling it too, but I need you to know…I’ve never wanted anything as—“ looking up Merlin’s words catch on his tongue as Arthur’s face is  the picture of blissful peace. His eyes are closed and the deep breaths of sleep purr through his parted lips. Merlin takes his hand away with a weary sadness. Some things aren’t meant to be, he tells himself, and perhaps this was one such thing. 

 

\--

 

His head is fuzzy. A resonating _thump-thump_ beats against his temple. The ache is maddening but it’s also reassuring to know that some things are still the same, his intolerance to alcohol being one of them.

Arthur stirs and blinks at the TV which has turned an alarming shade of blue. The movie long ago ended and reset to standby. He’s slumped against the corner of the couch, armrest digging painfully into his side. Arthur’s pretty sure he’s got a dead arm too if his struggle to lift it is any indication. However, when he opens his eyes fully and releases a yawn it all becomes clear. Merlin is asleep against Arthur’ side; face turned inwards along the length of his bicep. From this angle all Arthur can see is the top of Merlin’s head, hair tousled just like that first morning he watched him sleeping.

The sleeve of his shirt has ridden up and he can feel Merlin’s lips resting against his bare skin. Slow deep breaths tickle the fine hairs causing goose bumps to spread and send shivers. He shifts to get a better view and Merlin sighs into it as he shuffles closer to the heat of Arthur’s body. It’s instinctive for Arthur to lift his free hand to brush back the dark strands covering Merlin’s eyes. His hair is soft under Arthur’s touch and he allows a finger to drift down the line of Merlin’s jaw, dipping into the dent between his bottom lip and chin. Merlin’s uniqueness has never gone unnoticed by Arthur. Yes, he acted like a total buffoon at times, tripping over his own shadow on more than one occasion, but Arthur has always known Merlin was handsome. Whilst perhaps not as conventional as himself, Merlin held a charm which matched his blinding smile and the endless depths of his piercing blue eyes. Arthur wonders what would happen if he kisses him now. If he was to simply lean in and suck Merlin’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“You’re doing it again.” Merlin suddenly speaks up, popping an eye open to catch Arthur staring.

Embarrassment flushes up Arthur’s neck, twice now, _twice_ , he’s been found to be watching Merlin sleeping. He quickly drops his hand and begins to work his arm free under Merlin’s weight.

“Don’t,” Merlin says softly, fast enough to stop him from moving far by placing a hand on Arthur’s thigh. They’re both watching Merlin’s fingers flex over the soft cotton of his sweatpants. He’s hard. Been hard since he woke up and Merlin must notice, he must, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologises. “I was taking advantage of you.”

“You weren’t-“

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Arthur admits, shielding his face with his hands and taking a deep gulp of air. He’s tired and aroused, excuses running through his mind but instead he finds himself saying, “I haven’t been able to get those videos out of my head, haven’t been able to stop imagining you watching them too. It’s driving me crazy. I just—I just needed to touch you.”

There’s distinct silence in response and Arthur curses under his breath for his own stupidity. But then what else was he expecting? He’d gotten everything else wrong since he’d come back. Of course he would do the same in this matter.

A moment later he feels Merlin reach up and take a hold of his neck. Fingers tangle in the strands of hair at Arthur’s nape and Merlin’s hand is shaking but he keeps his grip tight.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either.” Merlin shakes his head, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for fifteen hundred years.”

A small smile takes over Merlin’s face, the tips of his ears turning pink and Arthur is mesmerised. It’s as if there’s a magnetic energy pulling them together as they both sway into each other’s space. Their foreheads knock together and Arthur runs the tip of his nose down the bridge of Merlin’s own, offering him one last chance to pull away. A second is all Arthur needs as he dips to place a chaste kiss against Merlin’s mouth. He lingers for a second, allows the taste to settle on his lips before he takes Merlin’s mouth again with deeper urgency. It’s hot and wet and Arthur doesn’t know why they weren’t doing this years ago. They fit perfectly.

Merlin moans and it vibrates at the back of his throat. The sound makes Arthur twist his body to push Merlin flush against the couch, fingers carved against the sharp line of Merlin’s cheekbone. A gasp for air makes them part for a second and Merlin chases his lips running his tongue along the roof of Arthur’s mouth. Merlin’s hands spread up and over his shoulders, settling in the hollow dip of his back and Arthur rolls his hips in response.

“Bed,” Merlin gasps against his ear, jerking in a mindless thrust when Arthur runs his teeth along Merlin’s jaw.

It’s a hapless stumble, Merlin removing his jumper, elbowing a lamp and sending it crashing to the floor in the process. Arthur laughs, until he gets twisted in removing his jogging pants and walks into the sharp corner of the chest of drawers.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, brow furrowing in frustration until Merlin soothes a hand over the stress lines and drags him the rest of the way to the bed. They share lazy kisses, languid tongues chasing every taste. Side by side, Merlin brings a hand down to cup Arthur’s cock earning him a broken groan. Despite his pleasure Arthur freezes.

“Have you done this before?” he asks, a sudden wave of insecurity washing over him.

“Only a handful of times.”

“Back in Camelot?”

Merlin spreads his fingers and takes Arthur fully in hand, beginning to move with a few shallow pumps. “No.”

“Do you trust me?” Merlin asks, placing a wet kiss to the base of his throat. He peppers them along the expanse of Arthur’s neck to his ear. “Do you trust me?”

“I’ve never trusted anyone more.”

That answer seems to make something snap in Merlin as he grounds out “Ok, ok, we’ll go slowly.”

“I can take it, don’t mother me.”

“Let’s not speak of mothers right now, yeah?” Merlin swings a leg over Arthur’s hip and guides him onto his back. “And don’t worry, we’re doing it all…I’m making sure of that. I just want to make this good for you.” Merlin rocks his body forward in small circles, hands running up Arthur’s chest, nails skimming over the peak of his nipples. “I really” he places a kiss over one of the pink nubs, “really”, another. “Want to make you feel good.”

Arthur’s hesitant at first, his body unused not being in control. Merlin’s chest is pressed against his own, tongue tracing lines over his stomach. He can probably feel Arthur tensing under his mouth as he looks up under thick black lashes. They don’t speak. Instead Merlin carries his wet path lower, all the while keeping Arthur’s eyes fixed on him. He reaches the ‘v’ between Arthur’s hips and with a hand gripped at the base, takes Arthur’s cock into his mouth and begins to suck. His hips jolt upwards, unable to restrain himself as Merlin takes him deeper with each pull. It’s magic. It has to be. Merlin’s mouth is way too warm, his tongue too quick. Arthur feels like Merlin’s consuming him.

“God yes,” Arthur grunts, twisting his fingers in the bed sheets. He’s close to coming; he can feel it stirring low in his groin. Just when the sweet taste of relief is on the tip of his tongue his body stills and Arthur looks down at Merlin with pure confusion. There’s the tip of a finger in the tight ring of his arse. Its dry and the sensation burns like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Concern must show on his face as Merlin removes his hand and runs them up Arthur’s flanks.

“You’ll enjoy it. I promise.” Merlin seals the words against Arthur’s thigh, dipping his head lower and pressing his finger back in. It’s wet this time. Arthur’s not sure how or what from but after withstanding the initial feeling of invasion his body begins to loosen up. The digit moves inside Arthur easier, slips further with each crook of Merlin’s palm. He hits a spot inside Arthur with a deep thrust and it sends him howling with pleasure. The pattern never stays the same after that. Merlin will stroke into him smoothly, only up to the first knuckle. Then he’ll drive lower, pace increasing until Arthur’s hips fly to meet each thrust.

It feels like hours but it can barely be minutes as Merlin continues to scissor his fingers in Arthur’s arse. He slips a third in and stretches him further. The burn that was initially uncomfortable settles into a welcome pleasure and with each teasing rub of that nerve centre within him Arthur’s close to tearing the sheets under his hands.

He comes when a fourth finger is introduced; Merlin’s name spilling from his lips in repeated breathless whimpers. Merlin continues to lick him out, tongue lapping at his ring in slower leisurely swipes. He finishes with a puckered kiss and Arthur slips his legs from Merlin’s shoulders, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair that’s stuck to his forehead. 

“That was…”

“Uh-huh.” Merlin smirks, rubbing his thumb over his still wet lips. He shimmies his way up the bed, nipping at Arthur’s thigh as he goes. “Trust me that’s not even half of it.”

“I never knew,” Arthur heaves; breaths falling in short pants as he struggles to get his heartbeat back to normal. “I never got to see everything you could do.”

“Yeah you did, you just weren’t looking for it.” Merlin stretches out unashamedly; lean limbs pale against the dark blue sheets, come drying on his stomach.

“I’m talking about your magic,” Arthur snorts. The muscles in his buttocks feel like they’re on fire and he can’t lie back properly without jolts of reminders that shoot straight to his cock.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure how you did it…why you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Stayed. “ Arthur turns on his side, sheet dragging low across his hipbone. Merlin runs his fingers over the ridge travelling down to his pelvis, stopping just short of where Arthur wants him to go most.

“I had to protect you. Even if at the end I couldn’t,” Merlin finishes softly, eyes downcast, lashes skimming the highlight of his cheeks. It’s amazing to Arthur that even after all these years Merlin still holds this guilt, carries the weight of the loss with him each and every day. Arthur’s glad he can rid him of it now.

“Why do you think I’m back?” he asks openly. Merlin’s hand is on Arthur’s stomach, gliding across the scar that lines his abdomen. Back and forth he strokes, the action calming.

“I’m not sure.” Merlin admits, lifting his head to meet Arthur’s eyes. “But Arthur, whatever it is…whatever the reason, you’re going to be great.”

“As long as I have you at my side. Dissuading evil sorceresses and quashing mythical beasts. “

Merlin breathes a laugh against Arthur’s shoulder. “The king and his servant, back again.”

“The king and his sorcerer,” Arthur corrects, smile soft and face untroubled. Merlin simply nods and burrows closer, placing a soothing kiss to the tender skin right behind his ear. The room is softly lit from the glow of the street lamp outside the window, colouring Merlin’s skin with an orange haze. Kilgharrah’s snores drifting from the lounge are the only sounds intruding on their solitude. It’s domestic in a way Arthur’s never allowed himself to be before, always putting duty and his people before himself. He’s sure those notions will return, once he’s discovered why he’s been brought back, _if_ he does. The uncertainty of it all doesn’t worry him anymore because he’ll never allow himself to lose this.

This is enough, Arthur thinks. If nothing else, this is enough.

 

 --end--

 

 


End file.
